


'Till Death do us Part

by Elvesliketrees



Series: Kink Meme Fills [9]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Buried Alive, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, No Actual Character Death, Poison, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4294419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvesliketrees/pseuds/Elvesliketrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis, Athos, and Porthos are poisoned on a routine mission with near-disastrous consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Till Death do us Part

**Author's Note:**

> Another kink meme fill for Round 1(!): Someone poisons Athos with a draught that mimics death. ( Think Juliet)
> 
> Porthos and Aramis truly believe him dead.   
> The prompt only called for Athos, but I took it a little farther and came up with this. Warning because everyone thinks our Athos is dead, but no actual character death.

          Aramis trembled as he knelt on the floor. Athos’ screams had died off long ago, and the fact that there _were_ screams had almost caused Aramis want to breath. But Aramis knew better. They’d sent Henri ahead with the important documents, and it was their duty to make sure that they arrived in Paris. He looked to Porthos, who was kneeling beside him, and he glared up at their captor. “What have you done with Athos?” he demanded.

          “The brown-haired one?” the man laughed. Aramis growled at him.

          “Don’t be stupid Francois, there was only one other!” his companion laughed.

          “Shut up Mathieu,” Francois grumbled, “Willem, bring him in!” A man came in, walking backwards with a boot in each hand. He was dragging a body in front of him. Aramis heard Porthos gasp, and Aramis was sure that he would die in that moment.

          “Athos?” he whimpered, “Athos, Athos answer me!”

          “Athos!” Porthos yelled.

          “What did you do to him?” Aramis screamed.

          “He’s dead!” Francois laughed.

          “No! No, answer me Athos! Answer me damn you!!” Aramis screamed. Tears ran freely down his cheeks. He shuffled forward, a test with his bound ankles, and put his head on Athos’ chest. There was no heartbeat beneath the bloody shirt, and glassy blue eyes gazed up at the ceiling. With a sob, Aramis nudged Athos a little with his cheek. His body was limp, and his sob turned to loud wails. He heard a sob from Porthos next to him, and he lifted his head. Porthos had his head down, his body shaking with sobs as he mourned for their leader, for their lover.

          “Tell us the information,” Francois commanded.

          “Go to hell,” Aramis spat.

          “Take the big one,” Francois commanded. A cursing Porthos was dragged away, and Aramis leapt after him, only to be restrained by Mathieu.

          “Tell us the information, or your friend joins the other one,” Francois said almost sweetly.

          “Please,” Aramis whispered. In the other room, Porthos gave a howl of pain. “Please, please stop!” Aramis begged.

          “Give us the information,” Francois intoned.

          “Never!” Aramis spat. He didn’t know how long they’d been there, he had to make sure, make sure that Henri got to Paris. The screams went on and on, and Aramis took one look at Athos’ body, and he sobbed, sobbed for his lovers. After what seemed like hours upon hours, Porthos’ screams came to an end. There was a silence, a still silence that was more fearful than anything Aramis had ever experienced. When Willem came in, grunting under his burden of Porthos. He dumped the big Musketeer in front of Aramis. Glassy eyes bored into his, and Aramis’ heart shattered. His heart shattered into little pieces, and he began to scream. He did not stop as they hit him, as they stretched upon his jaws, as they forced him to drink water laced with something strange, did not stop as darkness flooded his vision. When the darkness had engulfed him until his vision was only two small pinpoints, Aramis stopped screaming, and he was glad. Soon, he would be with Aramis and Porthos. He felt something wet being spilled on his shirt, and he knew no more.

          When Aramis woke again, he could not move. He could not move, could not speak, and could not see. He could hear, hear as something thudded above him, and he was afraid as he succumbed to the darkness once more. When Aramis woke once more, he felt sick, but could move and had use of his senses. He blinked his eyes, and he could hear harsh breathing next to him. There was mumbling, and Aramis realized with shock that someone was mumbling soothing nothings. With a jolt, he recognized the voice. Then, he recognized the other voice, deep and calming.

          “Athos, Athos, hush now, c’mon, just breathe,” Porthos soothed.

          “It’s so small,” Athos whimpered. It was cold where they were at, though it was cold everywhere, France was deep in the grips of winter. He shivered, and he heard Porthos’ breathe hitch.

          “Aramis, Aramis darlin’, are you awake?” Porthos asked.

          “Yes,” Aramis whispered.

          “Open your eyes darlin’, everything’s gonna be alright,” Porthos whispered. Aramis opened his eyes and stared in shock. They were in a box, practically lying on top of one another. They were all wrapped in their Musketeer cloaks, as their garments had been seized by their captors. Aramis realized with a start that they were in a coffin.

          “They buried us,” Athos whispered with a hint of hysteria, “I heard them.”

          “I thought you were both dead,” Aramis sobbed quietly.

          “They gave me some kinda tea, must’ve been something to make us seem dead,” Porthos whispered.

          “Are you hurt?” Aramis asked quickly.

          “Not really, they held a knife to my throat, made me scream, and then they gave me the tea,” Athos whispered.

          “Same here, but we ‘ave to be careful, air’s getting stale,” Porthos replied quietly.

          “Its winter, they wouldn’t be able to bury us far underground, we could break out,” Aramis whispered.

          “And if we are deep?” Athos whispered.

          “We’ll still suffocate,” Aramis replied with a shrug. They all bashed on the top, and soon it gave way. They clawed for the surface frantically, and when Aramis’ hand broke free, he rejoiced. Soon, their heads were poking above the surface. With a great deal of digging, they lay panting on the ground as the sun sank in the west.

          “We’ll rest here tonight,” Athos panted, “Then we’ll walk, we have to huddle together.” With that, they heaped themselves in a pile and slept deeply. Aramis prayed that the poison would wear off soon, they couldn’t stand to get sick out in the open. When the sun rose that morning, they kissed one another with blue lips. After five minutes of being awake, Athos dove to vomit in the snow.

          “The poison is getting out of your system, we’ll all be sick by the end of the day,” Aramis sighed. With that, they set off at as fast a pace as they could manage. They staggered on, their limbs fuzzy and weak, and they vomited often. When they finally were forced to settle down for the night, they were still a day’s walk from Paris. Their limbs trembled from exhaustion and hunger, and they were still vomiting out the poison. They ate handfuls of snow, trying to fill their stomachs and replace the water lost from vomiting, but their lips were still cracked and their throats were raw. When they woke the next morning, it was to a fresh snowfall. Aramis moaned as Athos woke him, wanted to descend back into the warmth, and didn’t wake until Athos slapped his cheek. His lover smiled at him apologetically, but his eyes hid a concern that made Aramis shake with something a little more than cold.

          “We must move, we have to get warm by nightfall,” Athos said tersely. The vomiting had at least ceased, but their heads were spinning. They were weak, and they were forced to lean on one another as they staggered like drunks towards the city. They had their shirts and trousers on, still soaked with blood from a water skin, and Aramis tried not to think about the picture they painted. They forced themselves to continue on, though they collapsed in a moaning heap more than once. When they finally arrived at the city, Porthos gave a hoarse bellow of joy. They staggered onwards, and people moved out of their way in fear. Finally, Aramis realized that they could go on no longer, and they collapsed in an unmoving heap. They were able to drag themselves to an alley, stinking of refuse and other things, and they laid still, silent except for their harsh breathing.

          “I’m sorry, I’ve failed us. I should have given them what they wanted,” Aramis whispered in the quiet stillness.

          “No!” Athos contradicted, “You did your duty, as you ought. No one has failed Aramis.” Aramis was warm, warm once again, and he knew that it would not be long now.

          “I’m sorry,” he whimpered, “I love you.”

          “Love you too,” Porthos whispered, his voice slurred.

          “I shall love you both always,” Athos whispered. A hand groped out, grasping and trembling fitfully, and Aramis seized it. He gave Athos’ hand a squeeze, and he seized Porthos’. Porthos was the first to fall silent, his eyes blinking closed and his breathing almost ceasing. Aramis went next, and as he succumbed to sleep, he was lulled by Athos’ slurred nothings. Aramis did not expect to wake again. When he did, it was to a warmth that was painful. He growled and batted at the source, which happened to be all around him.

          “Don’t fight Aramis, just relax,” a hoarse voice whispered. Treville?! “Yes, sleep now soldier, you are safe,” Treville replied softly. He sighed and did as bid. When he woke again, he was oh so warm. He opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. He was swaddled in at least five different blankets, creating a warm cocoon that hugged him tightly. He looked about and saw that the fire in the hearth was blazing, blazing to the point that it almost was too big for the hearth. He looked still more and found Treville snoring in a chair. A look to his left found Athos, swaddled as he was, and he could barely see Porthos next to him. He wrestled with his coverings, and he finally was able to withdraw a hand. It was heavily bandaged, though Aramis guessed that was from the frostbite. He reached out and stroked Athos’ bearded cheek, and was startled when his eyes shot open.

          “’Mis?” he moaned.

          “I’m here, and so is Porthos, just look to your left,” Aramis whispered. Athos wiggled a bit and growled when he saw what prohibited his movement. Aramis chuckled as Athos wrestled with the blankets just as he did. With a great deal of thrashing, and Aramis was surprised that Treville didn’t wake up with the amount of swearing that went on, Athos freed himself and crawled over to Aramis. Aramis was soon freed, and Athos shot under the covers with him, and Aramis made a pleased noise. Only Athos’ icy blue eyes and nose were visible under the blankets as he resurfaced next to Aramis, and he soon burrowed into Aramis’ warmth. “You’re supposed to stay under the covers,” Aramis whispered.

          “Am,” Athos responded, after looking around as if to impart a great secret. Aramis fairly giggled, and Treville shot up with a snort.

          “Captain,” Aramis said nonchalantly, as if Athos were not at that moment possibly attempting to climb inside Aramis.

          “Glad to see you two are awake,” Treville sighed.

          “The documents?” Aramis asked.

          “Safe. Henri brought them and we rode out to you as soon as we had them…we found you three on the floor of one of the rooms,” Treville said softly, “You were lucky that a patrol found you.”

          “We were lucky in many things, did-did you bury us?” Aramis asked softly.

          “Yes, there wasn’t much time, and I thought that you have preferred to be buried together,” Treville whispered, “For burying you at all, I will forever be sorry.” Aramis and Athos both protested this, and Treville was convinced the poison, not he, was at fault. He left them with promises of food, and Aramis tried to burrow in under the covers. Athos growled as his arm and leg were exposed, and they were soon engaged in a cover battle. As they were about to just resolve to pull Athos’ blankets over and cocoon themselves, and deep chuckle resounded throughout the room.

          “What’s all this then, fightin’ already?” Porthos chuckled.

          “Aramis has stolen the covers,” Athos pouted.

          “And Athos won’t stop trying to steal them back! They are _my_ covers you dolt, yours are over there!” Aramis protested as he gave the blankets a protective yank, his thoughts of a stalemate forgotten. With a groan that they all knew was barely serious, Porthos seized both his and Athos’ covers and crawled over. He hushed both their arguments with a kiss, and pulled both Athos and Aramis halfway onto him. He then shifted the covers onto their little pile, and they all sighed in contentment.

          “This is a somewhat compromising position,” Athos whispered conspiratorially.

          “Rubbish! The captain already knows, knew before we did, why do you think he sent us on that two week mission to Blois?” Porthos replied. Aramis stilled, he’d not known that.

          “Well, either way, he is coming back with food,” Athos replied. Porthos gave a happy sound at that, and they fell silent. Aramis lay still, drinking in the smiles and movements of his lovers. He’d thought he’d lost them once, and he would never stand the chance of losing them again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
